


To The World

by pineapple_penned



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, but still some sexy stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapple_penned/pseuds/pineapple_penned
Summary: Glimpses into the longest-standing relationship in all of Earth's history, spanning six millennia and then some.





	1. The First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

_“You can stay at my place, if you like.”_ The words set Aziraphale on fire, as if he were already in the depths of Hell. It was hard enough being reminded that the bookshop had burned down, a deep sadness filling him to the brim. But Crowley’s voice was low and gravelly, clearly tired, inviting him to spend the First Night of the Rest of Their Lives with _him._ Aziraphale’s mouth went dry.

_“I don’t think my side would like that.”_ He stuttered.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. _“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.”_ The thought made Aziraphale shudder, but he gave Crowley a half-hearted smile. The bus to Oxford (that would still go to London) pulled up, and Crowley led the way, Aziraphale following close behind and perching beside him in the aisle seat. Crowley had always liked the window.

Aziraphale did not explicitly agree, but when the bus rolled to a stop outside Crowley’s flat Aziraphale succumbed to the fact that there was no use in denying the offer and Crowley knew that. “Come along, Angel.” He murmured, sliding past to make his exit. Again, Aziraphale followed close behind, his unnecessary heartbeat thudding in his ears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Crowley’s dwelling-place, or where that had even been. The eighties, maybe? Some small town outside of London.

 Something hung heavily between them this time. Crowley’s stride slowed so he could walk beside Aziraphale, their shoulders brushing as they stepped into the lift to the tenth floor.

Crowley’s flat was dark with large floor-to-ceiling windows and towering ceilings and everything was bare, save for ornate throne-like chairs and some well-kept (albeit terrified) houseplants. The sight of life made Aziraphale smile. He stood uncomfortably, hands folded in front of him in the middle of the sitting room staring out at London. Crowley, strewn across one of his over-the-top thrones, dark mahogany with a ruby red backing, removed his dark sunglasses and his saccharine gold eyes burned into the side of Aziraphale’s face. “S’matter, Angel?” He murmured, sitting up. Aziraphale turned to face his Demon, his mouth forming a frown.

“I’m _tired_ , Crowley,” the angel whimpered, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or to sleep for the first time in centuries but he was overwhelmed with _something_ he wanted to stop. Crowley pursed his lips.  

“You’re not really one for the whole sleeping thing,” he mused playfully, crossing the room to stand beside the celestial being he deemed to be his eternal soulmate. Aziraphale didn’t smile at that, looking at Crowley with a saddened expression. Crowley felt a pang in his chest, similar to when he thought he’d lost Aziraphale in the fire. He wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders, staring out at the city below them. “C’mon, Angel. I think you could stand to sleep for a few hours.”

Aziraphale’s pulse accelerated unnecessarily, _again._ He stammered, “I-I don’t sleep. You _know_ that, Crowley. What good is that going to do me?” His arms dropped to his sides as he shrugged away from the demon’s magnetic pull.

“Shut up.” Crowley grunted, his hand falling to catch Aziraphale’s so he could lead him down the hall to the last room on the left. Crowley was relieved to find Aziraphale’s palm was just as clammy as his. Aziraphale stopped short at the kitchen.

“How about some wine, hm?” Aziraphale dipped into the kitchen, opening the first cabinet in sight hoping a little buzz would quell his nerves. Crowley shut the cabinet hastily.

“Not in there, Angel.” He rolled his eyes, walking across to another cabinet. Everything in the kitchen was dark, from the cabinets to the appliances to the granite countertops. Crowley pulled a bottle of red from the cabinet and debated on glasses before deciding they just added inconvenience. “Fancy a snack, Aziraphale?” Crowley offered, knowing the thought of a decadent dessert would lift his Angel’s spirits.

“What’ve you got?” Aziraphale perked up, standing before him and miracle-ing away the cork in the wine bottle before taking a sip of the deep, rich red wine. “Ah. I remember this one,” he murmured, looking down to the bottle’s label.

“Reggio di Calabria,” Crowley affirmed. “That little restaurant on the water. They had remarkable seafood, didn’t they, Angel?”

“That they did,” he smiled at Crowley and the kitchen felt just a touch brighter. “So, about that snack –“

“Here,” Crowley opened the fridge, which was barren save for a pastry box and bottles of liquor. He pulled out the box and handed it to Aziraphale, who opened the top and smiled.

“Always in the mood for a slice of lemon cake. Oh how you _tempt_ me.” The angel smirked at Crowley. Crowley thought he was going to combust. As if the gates of Heaven had opened in his very apartment.  And they may as well have, because Aziraphale’s smile right now was magnificently _blinding._ The pair sat at the granite counter, Crowley watching Aziraphale savor every bite of the slice of cake. Crowley could’ve said he’d miracled the box there, but the truth was he’d picked it up from Aziraphale’s favorite bakery just after Aziraphale had told him to go to Tadfield Airbase. Because Crowley would be damned if they saved the world and didn’t have something to celebrate. “Would you like a bite? It’s quite delicious,” Aziraphale’s eyes were sparkling, holding a bite out to Crowley. Crowley, not the biggest fan of sweets, but the biggest fan of Aziraphale happily accepted the piece fed to him, the mixture of tart and sweet startling at first. He washed the taste away with a swig of wine. The angel beamed at him, and his gaze was so full of a love Crowley hadn’t felt in his lifetime, not even before he had Fallen.

Crowley stood as Aziraphale finished his last bite. “Alright, Aziraphale, _now_ you’ve got to get some sleep.” He grumbled, sauntering away from the brightest, liveliest thing in his entire flat. “C’mon.” He jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom, swinging the half-finished bottle of wine at his side. Aziraphale stood, straightening his bowtie and clearing his throat nervously before following Crowley down the hall once again.

For knowing Crowley six millennia, Aziraphale had never even thought about the fact that Crowley _enjoyed_ sleeping, and therefore probably had a bedroom. The door swung open and it was just as Aziraphale would have imagined. Dark and elegant with a dramatically expansive bed adorned in crimson linens. What surprised Aziraphale most were the little signs of Crowley strewn about the room. Sunglasses here, a stray sock there, a t-shirt on the floor. It made the demon seem almost _human._

“For you, Angel.” Aziraphale awoke from his thoughts when Crowley handed him _pajamas._ Aziraphale had never worn such things in his life. Crowley _must_ have miracled these, for they were a pair of light blue  _plaid_ pajama pants and a white t-shirt, two things Crowley would never own. And to save himself the embarrassment of having to change his entire outfit, Aziraphale mircaled the clothes on, immediately uncomfortable and vulnerable. Crowley smirked. “’S cute on you,” he chuckled, miracling into his own pajamas – sweatpants and a t-shirt - all black of course. Aziraphale blushed, not sure what to do next. He stared at the bed with a blank expression. “It’s a _bed_ for Christ’s sake, Aziraphale. You lie in it.” Crowley crawled onto the plush mattress, pulling back the duvet to cover himself. He placed his sunglasses carefully on the nightstand, gazing up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale followed, keeping the maximum distance between their bodies.

Crowley, sensing the angel’s unease, handed him the wine bottle. They didn’t speak, passing the liquid between them, and somewhere in there Crowley may have miracled another bottle or two, and suddenly the expanse of bedding between them had dwindled as they laid side by side after finishing their third bottle of wine. Crowley dropped the empty bottle to the hardwood floor, rolling over onto his side to face Aziraphale. Aziraphale was propped up against the lush pillows, jumping when Crowley draped his arm laconically across the angel’s lap. “Lie down,” Crowley commanded, locking his swelling-ink pupils with Aziraphale’s sea-blue irises. Aziraphale shifted, sinking down onto the mattress further until he was eye-level with Crowley. And _lord_ was his bed soft, Aziraphale felt himself drifting off right there. Crowley reached out to hold Aziraphale’s face in his hand, gently as if the angel would snap in his hands. Aziraphale kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. Crowley’s fingers seared against Aziraphale’s fair skin, and the demon tried his hardest to keep from shaking. Six millennia he’d waited for this. To touch his Angel, to feel his body beside him, to _love_ him. His fingers drifted across Aziraphale’s skin, along his jaw, down his neck to his clavicle, back up to the side of his face. His movements were deliberate and carefully calculated so as not to spook. Aziraphale opened his eyes, and he noted the nearly imperceptible hitch in Crowley’s ( _unnecessary_ ) breath. “Aziraphale I—”

“I know.” Aziraphale smiled, cutting him off. He placed his hand on top of Crowley’s, still resting on his cheek. Crowley didn’t need to say it. Aziraphale _felt_ it. Not that he hadn’t before. But they’d just averted Armageddon and there was no telling what tomorrow would bring and the feeling of a demon’s love is so pervasive, so overwhelming and so _impossible_ to ignore, especially in such close proximity. Aziraphale had never felt anything like it, there was no comparison to any kind of love –neither Earthly nor Divine nor otherwise. Crowley’s love was ethereally carnal, piercing and unwavering. Aziraphale had _felt_ it, but never in such bold strokes. Everything about Crowley screamed _I love you, I love you, I love you. I want to stay with you for an eternity more._ “I know Crowley,” he repeated, leaning closer. “I love you too.” The words tumbled out against Crowley’s lips, smashing against Aziraphale’s. The demon couldn’t hold back any longer he needed to consume every part of the divinity before him, to bask in his Angel’s light.

Their kisses started as fireworks, fading to hot, low embers. Lazy and slow, drifting in and out. Aziraphale had never felt this before, had never felt so much love for a single being, let alone a demon. But, in reality, Crowley wasn’t a _demon_ , he wasn’t _fallen_ , so much as he was curious and questioning. He really had “ _sauntered vaguely downwards.”_ He didn’t fit anywhere. Neither of them did. They really were on their own side.

Crowley tread carefully the boundaries with Aziraphale throughout the course of the night. Exploring touches, rough kisses, but he didn’t want to push the angel past his limits. Aziraphale wanted this moment to last for eternity. So he froze time for a few hours, or maybe a few days. He wasn’t really sure, he just knew he wasn’t ready for it to end or to face the morning. But it would come. Sleep came and went while time stood still, but amidst the love and lust, Agnes’s last prophecy lingered in Aziraphale’s mind.

“It can wait ‘til morning, Angel. I’m going to start time.” Crowley said against his neck, curling into Aziraphale’s side like it’s where he was meant to be the past six-thousand years. Aziraphale nodded silently, pulling Crowley close enough to fill all his empty spaces (the ones he hadn’t known existed until he first realized his love for Crowley. Some will say it was 1941, when Crowley saved the prophetic books after the church bombing, but it was earlier still. 1941 was the moment Aziraphale realized affirmatively Crowley loved him, but he had begrudgingly loved the old serpent since he had been saved from decapitation at the Bastille in 1793, all for crepes - which in the end, they did get).

_It could wait for now_ , he agreed. Time could start. They’d still have eternity if either of them had anything to say about it. They were celestial soulmates, and as confusing and confounding as it were, they’d already accepted it as ineffable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, Good Omens re-awoke my inner ficwriter, so I'll hopefully get out a miniseries of free-standing oneshots. That's the goal, anyway! (They won't be in order, either. Just their lives on shuffle!) Also I'd die for art of Aziraphale feeding Crowley lemon cake, like I would CRY.


	2. Somebody to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has loved Crowley for centuries - most times frustratedly and sometimes with dizzying intensity. Currently he was loving him in the back room of the bookshop.

After being together for more or less six millennia, Aziraphale sees glimpses of Crowley’s inner angel. He’s said it many times to Crowley’s dismay, but Aziraphale knew that deep down the demon was _nice_.  Crowley tried his best to hide it, but as much as he was a demon, Aziraphale saw through him. It was little things at first – indulging in oysters at Petronius’ restaurant, the Arrangement, offering him lifts anywhere he wanted to go, making Shakespeare the best playwright in history, right down to the cup of hot cocoa he’d made Aziraphale that night (although it was left abandoned on his desk when Crowley suggested they indulge in one of the humans’ greatest temptations – sleep).  Then the acts of kindness grew into acts of love. Saving Aziraphale in the Bastille, saving his books of prophecy in the Blitz, saving Agnes’s book in the fire. Crowley was always saving him, and Aziraphale hoped he always would.

 

But Aziraphale’s favorite acts of love were moments like the present, with Crowley curled around his body – true to his serpentine roots. Aziraphale didn’t usually sleep, but had grown much more accustom lately. Crowley snored quietly by Aziraphale's side while his fingers traced lazily up and down the pale skin of his love's forearm. Aziraphale was happy to exist beside Crowley, even if he was just sleeping. He’d much rather be by his side while his serpent was sleeping than anywhere else. The thought reminded him of the eighteenth century and how _alone_ he was while Crowley slept through its entirety. It certainly had been a lonely century for Aziraphale. Lots of people. Lots of people in his bed. But very lonely. Looking for Somebody. _Oh, Somebody._

 

 _Right_ , Aziraphale thought, _being beside you is divine. You are the best Somebody._  Aziraphale settled into the pillows to sleep.Crowley curled into the angel’s side instinctively, perhaps some subconscious connection between occult beings who have spent over 6,000 years together. At some point you just get each other.

 

Aziraphale has loved Crowley for centuries – most times frustratedly and sometimes with dizzying intensity. Currently he was loving him in the back room of the bookshop, his angelic fingers wrapped firmly around Crowley’s cock as it popped out the front of his dark and ungodly tight jeans with a flick of Aziraphale’s fingers against the button.

 

This was the first time the pair had even ventured into this arena. Crowley had been slow with him, unsure of what was within Aziraphale’s bounds. It certainly didn’t stop him from coming… prepared. The whole human genitalia was something he wasn’t exactly used to – not having used it for quite some time. Not only that, but Crowley was not what one would call _experienced_ in the area of lovemaking. He’d had experiences, sure, because a demon needs to be familiar with his lot’s work. But in that event it was more like a factory tour than an experience. Informational and boring. He’d had only a handful over the millennia, some good “college try”s, but he was never satisfied nor did he think he could be without the right person or being or _Somebody_. That is, until Aziraphale cornered him against the old oak desk in the backroom of the bookshop, pressing kisses along his mouth and neck, his pelvis pushed firmly against Crowley’s.

And _Oh,_ there it was. _Somebody to Love._

 

Aziraphale’s lips trailed searing hot kisses down the Demon’s jaw and neck where he could feel Crowley’s pulse hammering in time with the throbbing of his cock as celestial fingertips skimmed its head.

 

“Angel,” he gasped through gritted teeth, fingers tightening and tugging at Aziraphale’s hair, who in turn sunk his teeth into the skin at the base of Crowley’s neck. The desk was scattered with books and papers and an abandoned cup of hot cocoa he’d made Aziraphale last night. He pulled the angel closer, closer, _closer._ His arms grasped for something, _anything_. He crumpled papers on the desk in one hand, wrinkling the lapel on Aziraphale’s favorite coat in the other. Crowley’s hand fell and cautiously, yet greedily, grasped the bulge in Aziraphale’s trousers, looking for _something._ The feeling shot through Aziraphale like lightning. He was instantly dizzy, overtaken by Temptation. _Oh Somebody indeed, my darling Demon._

 

Aziraphale pulled away from Crowley’s neck, where the pale skin had begun to accrue a smattering of love bites and reddish-purple marks. His hands slowly trailed down the serpent’s torso, until his fingers slipped underneath the fabric of Crowley’s t-shirt to run along his ribcage. Aziraphale’s touch on Crowley’s skin felt like stepping on the hottest sands of the most magnificent beaches - painfully searing but blindingly beautiful. He wanted – he begged for – _more_ , _more, more._ Aziraphale heard him loud and clear, lowering to his knees on the antique woven rug at their feet. He'd gotten it in Italy in 1877, taking a trip alone to Florence and hoping to run into his Demon. But Crowley was here now, completely aroused and vulnerable and it made Aziraphale's cock ache just looking at him. 

 

_I get down on my knees and I start to pray._

 

The ghost of his breath ran over Crowley’s straining cock. Aziraphale appreciated it for a moment (it was perfect). The anticipation was agonizing for Anthony Crowley, a demon (pants now half-down) splayed against an old oak desk of an antique bookshop. A demon who had never so much as had an erection let alone an orgasm. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears forming at the outer corners, waiting.

 

_Till the tears run down from my eyes._

 

And then Aziraphale’s mouth wrapped around him, his tongue pressed against the underside of his length, taking him fully to the back of his throat. Crowley could only see white. He could’ve sworn he was back in Heaven with fucking God Herself.

 

_Lord, Somebody. Oh, Somebody._

 

Aziraphale quite surprised Crowley. While an angel, he had no problem giving into such Earthly desires like books and art and sushi and, of course, sex. He was an expert, at this point, at  tantalizing and (dare he say) tempting. He was driving Crowley in circles, pushing him to the edge then backing off just in time to bring him down again, the cruel bastard. His thumbs pressed into the demon’s hipbones, holding him in place as he worked his entire length and Aziraphale would be lying if he said he wasn’t 1) Impressed and 2) Slightly intimidated.

 

“Oh, angel,” Crowley growled, thrusting into his mouth, grasping Aziraphale by his light locks. “I want you to make me finish,” he commanded, serpentine eyes boring into Aziraphale, who gazed up at him from the floor. “You do look rather cute like this,” Crowley smirked, cupping his face in his hand before fucking into his mouth and earning a little gag from Aziraphale. Aziraphale rolled his eyes but continued, taking Crowley’s cock with a delicious sigh that caused his knees to physically buckle. Aziraphale caught him before he could fall, humming as he felt every muscle in the demon’s body contract.

 

Aziraphale smiled wickedly. _You foul fiend, you’ve no idea what comes next._

And just like that, Crowley was undone. He’d thought he was in Heaven before, but that was just the beginning. What he was feeling now was the utmost divine. He collapsed back against the desk, most of the papers once atop the wood were now scattered on the floor around Aziraphale, who removed his lips from Crowley with a loud _pop._ He stood and stretched before his demon with a soft, knowing smile. He chuckled darkly. “Oh, my love. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for _that.”_ He kissed him then, holding him still for a brief moment. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

 

“Wouldn’t say **it** is. But you, angel. I’ve waited for you for six millennia. You’re unlike anything in my entire existence.”

 

“Same to you. You’re, dare I say, Heavenly. I’m sorry to keep you waiting, I was waiting for Somebody, too.”

 

Crowley kissed him with the same intensity and passion as he had when Aziraphale told him he loved him. Enough to create and destroy and rebuild and rise and Fall. All at once.

 

 _Oh, Somebody_ _indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here's another one - sorry it took me a while and that it's a little shorter. I work two jobs and I like to sleep when I can, so sometimes this takes a back-burner (even though I'm constantly reading other writers' stuff!) And now it's 2AM and I've lost significant sleeping time - oh the sacrifices I make :) I'll do better next chapter around!


End file.
